This candle had a little flame.
A golden quiver suspended in a private lake
of melting alabaster.
I gave it life.
Can my thoughts fly
through this small pulsating flame?
Can it tell you of the love I have,
the loneliness I feel?
Does the smoky tendril,
easing its spiral through the icons of our faith,
bring me the warmth I need from you?
I am always sad to find a church without a candle.
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